“He did! He will!” Beatrice sobbed, desperately grabbing her friend’s arm. “Please, just put it on your Amex for now! We’ll sort it out when we get back to New York!”
“My Amex limit is ten thousand, you crazy old bat, not fifty!” the woman spat, violently yanking her arm away. “We are going to the concierge to buy our own economy tickets out of here right now. Do not speak to us ever again.”
I watched, mesmerized by the sheer physics of karma, as the three women practically sprinted out of the villa, leaving Beatrice entirely alone. She collapsed onto the white daybed, burying her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with hysterical, gasping sobs.
The Azure Atoll Resort wasn’t just a hotel. It was a private island, accessible only by a forty-minute seaplane ride. You couldn’t just walk out the front door and hail a cab to disappear. You were a captive to the geography.
Suddenly, a loud, authoritative knock echoed through the iPad’s speakers.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Beatrice’s head snapped up, her mascara running in thick black rivers down her pale, terrified cheeks.